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Compliments of 

Jesse Holdom, 

Chicago, 
U. S. A. 



A SHORT VIEW OF 
A LONG JOURNEY. 



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Glass 
Book_ 



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T HE UBRARy] 
OF CONGRESS! 

WASHINOTOWJ 



A Short View of a Long Journey. 



The Ocean Voyage. 

In midwinter the prospect of crossing the Atlantic, 
even to summer Southern Seas, is not altogether a calm, 
inspiring prospect; and yet the bright winter morning 
of our start gave omen of gentle zephyrs. Smooth 
seas, followed by a cloudless sky, with Old Sol 
warming the deck of the ship, and the ocean outside 
Sandy Hook and all along the shore that day being as 
quiet and smooth as the Drainage Canal in July, met our 
noble craft of 20,000 tons, gliding imperceptibly on her 
way and made expectations for good weather mount high 
in every male and female breast, but all alike were doomed 
to disappointment and the hopes of the morning were 
dashed by the fears of midnight. Those sleeping trav- 
elers in the bunks below, in the wee sma' hours of the 
morning, experienced the treachery of old Neptune, for 
a fierce winter gale from the northwest set in, precipitat- 
ing a violent rolling motion of the ship, disagreeable to 
all and unbearable to many, which continued a whole 
week until we reached historic Trafalgar Bay and 
came to anchor in the straits inside the shadow of the 
mighty rock of Gibraltar. 

Our fellow voyagers were largely of the leisure class, 
good people, enjoying in the autumn of life the fruits 
of ingenuity, thrift and hard work sown in the spring 
and reaped in the summer of manhood's prime. Chicago 
was well represented by some genteel, cultivated people 
traveling en famille; also by the Whitehouse and the 
Palmer House and the Court House. New York was rep- 
resented by the house of Vanderbilt. 

St. Paul's was measurably represented in the person 
of a dignified gentleman who, for years, paid pew rent 



but never occupied the pew, although he was well repre- 
sented by his wife and daughter, fond of foreign travel 
and residence, devotees of the muses, admirers of foreign 
manners and tongues, but helpful church workers when at 
home, — working the head of the house fairly well when 
roaming foreign lands. Fletcher, the Apostle of mastica- 
tion as a fine art, slick and trim, rosy and healthy, a splen- 
did example of the efficacy of his theories, was voyaging 
to his beloved Venetian home. His cult may be summed 
up in chewing all you eat till it is reduced to the weakest 
fluid and involuntarily percolates to your interior appara- 
tus — masticating even water before allowing it to assimi- 
late with eatables gone before ; do this and you can live for 
a week on what would be an ordinary small meal, resulting 
in your growing muscular and being well nourished with- 
out suffering a qualm from indigestion or any interior 
complaint, prolonging your life indefinitely. Try it. A 
fine orchestra discoursed music three times a day, and 
the usual games and friendly talks, with reading, includ- 
ing the ship's daily Marconigram news, helped while 
away the tedium of the voyage. An English Lord was 
the novelty on board. He bobbed into some public prom- 
inence soon after by auctioning off his ancestral 
books, bric-a-brac and pictures, which brought fabulous 
prices, and it is heralded that he transgressed the rules 
of the House of Peers by voting on measures before tak- 
ing the Peer's oath, subjecting himself to fines running 
into thousands of pounds sterling. 

Gibraltar. 

Sailing through Trafalgar Bay, scene of England's 
great naval victory over the French fleet under Admiral 
Lord Nelson, one of England's great decisive naval strug- 
gles against the power of Napoleon, we came under the 
shadow of that mighty, imposing strategic rock of Gribral- 



tar. It is a grim old rock, majestic and defiant. It 
breathes defiance, bristles with fortifications of impen- 
etrable strength. One of the largest arsenals and navy 
yards in the world is here maintained. One hundred and 
ten war ships of all kinds, from the most modern battle- 
ships and cruisers with a fleet of torpedo boats, compose 
the Mediterranean Squadron, of which forty of the largest 
and most powerful are continuously at or in the vicinity 
of Gibraltar. The garrison of English soldiers is a large 
one. The waters of the bay are alive with activity. 
Crafts of all kinds, busily darting about, are engaged in 
keeping the war craft furnished with men and ammuni- 
tion of war and all necessary supplies. 

The town of Gibraltar, with its narrow streets and 
darkened windows, and all kinds of curious, out-of-date 
vehicles, drawn mostly by mules, with Spaniards in their 
quaint costumes, Moors and Africans, walking the streets 
with their bodies wrapped loosely in linen, their legs 
bare, with sandals on their feet, give the town an Oriental 
tinge in strange contrast to the red-coated English sol- 
diers. Foreigners are not allowed on the rock between 
sunset and sunrise, during which time the gates are closed 
and strongly guarded by soldiers. 

Leaving the port in the early evening is a fairy scene; 
the rock is brilliantly illuminated with many electric 
lights and far-reaching searchlights shine from hidden 
recesses ashore and penetrate the darkness, making every 
object on the waters visible. The Britishers evidently 
do not intend to be surprised by any hidden foe; they 
realize the immeasurable importance of this strategic 
point. Commanding, as it does, the entrance to the Med- 
iterranean, affording access to the shores of Southern 
Europe, lapped by its tideless waters and the Orient 
which lies upon the shores of contiguous seas. It is the 
highway to the British possessions in India through the 
Suez Canal, and the short cut to their Australian and 
New Zealand colonies. 



Genoa. 

The storm of the Mediterranean is calm by contrast 
with the huge rolling billows of the midwinter stormy 
Atlantic, and our good ship, riding disdainfully through 
these waters on an even keel, makes a good start on its 
four-day voyage to Naples. Genoa, from medieval times 
famed as the home of a great seafaring, mercantile peo- 
ple, as well as for its warriors and successes in arms, and 
commerce, and historically imperishable as the birthplace 
of that intrepid and sagacious old navigator, Columbus, 
who ploughed a new furrow across the Western Ocean and 
marked out the way to the shores of the American con- 
tinent, after three days ' steady steaming, is reached. Of 
all the places of Europe, Genoa is dearest to the heart 
of the Americans as the spot from which sprung St. Co- 
lumbus, the patron saint of all America, whose discovery 
of this continent was celebrated by the grandest World's 
Fair of modern times here in Chicago, on which was ex- 
pended the enormous sum of twenty-seven million dol- 
lars. We go ashore for a cursory and rapid view of the 
place, as our good ship tarries but half a day. The city 
is substantial and in some places beautiful. It is still a 
place of much commercial importance, and on the streets, 
along the wharves, is as hustling and busy as South 
Water street. Crowds refresh themselves in the many 
wine- shops, where native wine is poured from a pitcher 
into a generous glass at the cost of a few centimes. 

The view of the town from the harbor is dazzling in the 
sunlight and the heights of the town and harbor 
afford a very artistic and picturesque scene. Genoa is 
noted of all the cities of Italy for its great cemetery or 
"Campo Santo." It lies back of the fortifications on the 
heights and is marvelous to behold. There are situated 
corridors of tombs arranged in a wide stone semi- 



circle, with the most remarkable lot of sculpture imag- 
inable. Some of it is of a most artistic and imposing- 
kind, by eminent Italian artists. Much of it is, however, 
quite commonplace and tawdry ; but the scene as a whole 
is strikingly impressive. Grief is depicted on every tomb. 
Effigies of weeping, praying widows and disconsolate 
husbands are much in evidence, all carved in stone. These 
seem to typify the conventional expression of the grief 
of the living for the dead. Altars are made, and the 
patron saint of the house chiseled in marble, with candles 
burning ; and there were living survivors of the departed 
at some of these tombs, down upon their knees upon the 
cold stones, saying prayers for the repose of the souls of 
their ancestors and their speedy rescue from purgatorial 
pains. Very devoted, but dreadfully depressing. Reminds 
one of the Dutchman's soliloquy on the superior good 
fortune of his dog's demise in contrast to his own, say- 
ing: 'Veil, ven the damn dog be dead, veil, he be dead; 
but ven I be dead — vel, I got to go to hell already." The 
mortuary chapel was large, but not artistic, at least for 
Italy. It would undoubtedly have looked different in Chi- 
cago. There was to me a humorous side to all this devo- 
tion to the dead. I wondered if the weeping widows and 
widowers, in contracting new matrimonial alliances, took 
their new conjugal mates to see their weeping statues at 
the tombs of their predecessors? The celebrated Red Pal- 
ace is a picture gallery of much interest, and the Cathedral 
of St. Lorenz interesting. Among its many statutes and 
paintings there is a painting upon the ceiling depicting 
the saint stretched upon a gridiron, this being the mar- 
tyrdom he is reputed to have suffered. 



Naples, Pompeii and Sorrento. 

With light hearts, after an enjoyable luncheon 
ashore, which was most palatable after eleven 
days of feeding aboard ship, we re-embarked for 
a final stay until the Neapolitan shore, with its 
wretched, howling beggars, welcomed us with their 
noisy importunities. The Mediterranean is a real ocean, 
and but little of the very attractive coast of Spain and 
France and Italy is in sight, and some of the most inter- 
esting islands are barely visible from the steamer's deck. 
We pass, however, nearest to the islands of Corsica and 
Elba, scenes in the life, birth and banishment of the great 
Napoleon. The approach to the Bay of Naples is very 
picturesque, capped with that grand, smoking, but ter- 
rible volcano Vesuvius. Naples is the most populous of 
all the Italian cities, and there is more squalor and beg- 
gary there than in any other Italian city. They beggar de- 
scription, so I will not attempt one, as even the 
recollection of them is distressing. Our ship was ser- 
enaded by gaily dressed men and women in boats, twang- 
ing the gay guitar and singing. There were some heroic 
old men, clad only in bathing trunks, who did some very 
dextrous diving after silver pieces. They not only dem- 
onstrated their skill, but powers of endurance, for some 
of them were in the water more than an hour, and it was 
early March and anything but warm. We were met by a 
courier, who, having credentials from Governor Odell of 
New York and commendations from the Bertolini's, fa- 
mous Italian bonifaces, I allowed him to appropriate my 
confidence, and before being dismissed he had, of his own 
volition, appropriated, in many subtle and secret ways, 
some of my money. He is a memory with me. He is a smart 
man. He did me up so nicely that I was long in discover- 
ing his financial artifices. He had been to New York. 
He had learned the ropes. He knew Tammany. The 



"con" man was his intimate. Neapolitan tariffs seemed 
high to me, a stranger, but I trusted him, in my inno- 
cence, until I got onto him at Florence, where, like the 
little nine-day-old pussies, my eyes were opened and I 
discovered I was paying a double tariff at the hotel. 
That day, in my wanderings about beautiful Florence, 
my courier waxed confidential and communicated to me, 
among other things, that once in Naples he was president 
of his society, at which I remarked, in my most dulcet 
and winning tone, ' ' Was it the Mafia 1 ' ' But my attitude 
was not sufficiently innocent or convincing to ward 
off much indignation and choler on his part. He 
demanded an explanation, with an assumed injured air, 
whereat I replied that, while I didn't know much about 
the Mafia that was commendable, he was such an adept 
at "doing up" foreigners that such qualifications seemed 
to me might point to him as a person worthy of such a 
distinction. This courier literally delivered us to the Phil- 
istines. At stores where we made purchases he would 
cause us to be assessed about double the real price, and 
in the evening he would go around and collect his rake-off. 
At the hotels it was the same, but at Florence my wife's 
curiosity exposed him in all his villainy. She 
thought she would make prices at another and 
more fashionable hotel. She did, and procured better 
quarters for twelve liras than those we were paying 
thirty liras for. My courier and I parted. He returned 
to Naples and the Mafia, but he held me up for first-class 
fare as a parting evidence of his financial dexterity. 
Who ever heard of a courier traveling first class in Eu- 
rope, where they say only Princes, Americans and damn 
fools indulge in such extravagance. But to do this courier 
justice, he knew much about Italy, and was very useful 
as well as luxurious. Our hotel, the Bertolini Palace, 
was on the heights of Naples. Our first night was beau- 
tifully clear and moonlight, the only clear one during our 



stay. A most brilliant, awe-inspiring and fascinating 
sight imaginable met our view. The beautiful Bay of 
Naples, the great city, with its myriad of electric lights, 
and that eruptive, volcanic Vesuvius made an incom- 
parable spectacle. On such a night it is phantasmagoria. 
That night Vesuvius was doing business with much vigor, 
and flames and smoke could be distinctly seen, with red 
molten lava rolling down the side of the mountain for 
hundreds of feet, making an apparently gory path. This 
was but two weeks preceding the eruption which wrought 
such havoc and destruction in Naples and adjacent vil- 
lages. The eruption that night put the Cook funicular 
railway temporarily out of business and injured several 
too venturesome tourists, but no one dreamed that that 
eruption was but the precursor of the dire disaster which 
so soon followed. 

There are many interesting places in Naples, but 
neither time or the purpose here in contemplation make 
it necessary to recount them. The little horses are mar- 
velous for their speed and endurance. They run with 
large loads quite fast up steep, narrow streets, urged 
by their not very humane drivers. The two most im- 
portant places of interest in Naples are the National 
Museum, a grand building filled with statuary and relics 
from Pompeii and Herculaneum. A model of the ruins 
of Pompeii conveys an excellent idea of their situation 
and condition. Some of the statuary is heroic in size and 
the relics from the ruins of Pompeii are very fine and of 
great interest, and the Aquarium, probably all things 
considered, is the most complete to be found anywhere. 
It is very interesting and very fishy. 

Pompeii, with Herculaneum, was destroyed by an erup- 
tion of Vesuvius, A. D. 76. Its restoration is wonderful 
and remarkably interesting. The Greeks and Romans 
here dwelt in opulent magnificence. From these restora- 
tions it would seem that they were as far advanced in 



civilization as we, including artistic refinement in dis- 
sipation. Temples, amphitheaters, and baths, bear evi- 
dence of art and comfort. Elegance and cultivated taste 
are everywhere apparent. There are exhibited bodies 
of men, women and children exhumed from their cover- 
ing of lava, which served the purpose of embalming. 
Teeth and skulls are perfect. Skeletons of animals, in- 
cluding the domestic cat, taken from the ruins, are well 
preserved. All kinds of fruits and vegetables are in 
excellent condition. Even the paintings upon the walls, 
painted nearly two thousand years ago, show but little 
evidence of their antiquity. The sight of these ruins was 
so impressive as never to be forgotten. All the readings 
of books ever published descriptive of Vesuvius fail to 
convey but the slightest idea of her real condition, com- 
parable with visual contact. In driving from Pompeii to 
Castlemarie and Sorrento one passes through many vil- 
lages, which afford an opportunity of seeing the Italian 
people as they are in their own land. This drive is in view 
of Vesuvius, smoking more densely than Chicago's fac- 
tory chimneys, and skirts the Bay of Naples through olive 
and orange groves and vineyards, passing old castles, 
ancient buildings and quaint statues, making a scene of 
never ending attractiveness, riveting the attention of the 
traveler while filling his lungs with keen, fresh air and 
exhilarating ozone. At Castlemarie there is a navy yard, 
and at five o'clock in the afternoon three thousand good, 
tidy, intelligent looking workmen were going from the 
yards to their homes at the conclusion of their day's 
work. They had every outward appearance of being- 
happy and contented. 



10 



Rome. 

Koine, the Eternal City of Christendom, is grand, im- 
posing and impressive. My vocabulary is all too shorn of 
superlatives to adequately describe it. The first sight on 
entering the great Cathedral of St. Peter 's is awe inspir- 
ing. This magnificent, beautiful cathedral is indeed a 
temple worthy of the Deity who rules us all. It is of 
tremendous proportions, so vast that it almost baffles 
belief that it was raised by human hands, guided by hu- 
man intellect. 

It reflects the divine in its wondrous beauty. Every- 
thing about it is great, great in every way and from 
every view-point. There are side chapels larger than big 
churches. The statuary is heroic and endless. The 
paintings and mosaics are numerous and beautiful. The 
tombs are tremendous. All has been reared by the 
greatest artists who ever lived. The cost must be incom- 
putable from an intrinsic standpoint. From a traditional 
and historical view-point the treasures of the world 
would be inadequate. A mass was beautifully sung, in 
which a little army of priests officiated and partook. A 
very loud, animated and vociferous sermon was 
preached by a distinguished dignitary of the church, in 
Italian. It was undoubtedly fine, although I did not 
understand a word of it. At the tomb of St. Peter, a 
marvelous creation, more than one hundred lights are 
kept constantly burning. I solved the old story of kiss- 
ing the Pope's toe. There is an historic bronze statue 
of St. Peter, and the faithful kiss the big toe of his right 
foot. I witnessed hundreds of men, women and children 
of all degrees kiss this toe, and so many millions have 
done so that the hard metal has worn brassy and shiny. 
It is an affecting sight to see the little ones raised up 
to perform this act of idolatrous devotion. 



11 

Rome is said to have 365 church edifices, one for 
every day in the year. Many of them are wonderfully 

beautiful and of magnificent proportions. St. Pan.. Si 
John and St. Maggoria are three of the finest specimens. 
They are beautiful and intensely interesting. St. Paul's 
- -mparatively modern, and its basilica a marvel of 
beauty. Monks were chanting, and a mass in pi _ 
The chanting was .-onerous and the music sweetly grand. 
Many of the ceremonials of the ma>s. to a Protestant, 
seemed peculiar. That of the "Touch of Peace" is one. 
It is done in this wise. The priest celebrant touches on 
the breast lightly with both hands a deacon of the m - 3 
He proceeds to touch in the same way another monk or 
priest, and they, one by one. in turn, do likewise, until all 
are touched. Another ceremonial was a pi ss n of 
chanting priests going from one chapel to another from 
the altar where mass was celebrated, the officiating priest 
being attended by an acolyte, carrying what appears to 
be a sort of a Chinese umbrella over the head of the 
priest, who. at the last stopping place, with all his follow- 
ers, makes a few genuflections, utters a few -ententes, all 
disperse, and the mass ends. 

The Vatican and the Sistine. or Pope's Chapel, are 
unique for their glories of design, and as the repositories 
of priceless treasures. They are rich with the beauties 
of paintings and sculptures by the greatest masters. 
There are literally acres of paintings and forests of stat- 
uary. The library of the Vatican is filled with ancient 
scrolls and manuscripts, and rare tomes, which cannot 
be duplicated. It is a veritable store-house of literature, 
from ancient to modern times. There are miles of corri- 
dors and halls, all embellished with paintings from wall 
to ceiling, done in the most ornate of light and brilliant 
colors. Here are displayed costly presents to the Popes 
of all time, bestowed by royalty of Christian countries. 
through the Christian era. These are in gold and silver 



12 

and bronze, also vases, statutes, models of churches, ca- 
thedrals, monasteries, wrought from porphyry, oynx ana 
many precious stones. The gardens are superb. Fruits, 
vegetables and flowers are in a high state of cultivation. 
The Pope is the spiritual ruler of the faithful the world 
over. The Roman hierarchy is without doubt adminis- 
tered with masterly wisdom. Its revenues are so vast that 
the extent of them is not known. As the Pope is canon- 
ically infallible no accounts are rendered. All the Roman 
world contribute Peter's pence. The aggregate of this 
world-wide contribution is fabulous. The institutions 
maintained by the church may be found wherever the 
bells of Christendom ring. Christians of other denomi- 
nations might learn much from the administrative fac- 
ulty of their Roman brethren. While the church of Rome 
thrives for much good, yet who can forget that she has 
spilled oceans of blood in her wake to mark the mainte- 
nance of her supremacy. 

The Forum and Coliseum are marvelous ruins; walls 
in some places three yards thick and as staunch, appar- 
ently, as the immovable hills. These impressive ruins 
are the result of wars, malignant and inhuman, but so 
goes the history of the world. One dynasty is built upon 
the ruins of another. Nations grow and thrive through 
deeds of blood and destruction. Thrones are built to 
totter and decay, and what is seen here is but a weird 
object lesson of this truth. Rome, at one time, reveled in 
her ancient glory with more than a million of people, and 
yet war and disease wrought such havoc that her popu- 
lation sunk to less than 20,000, and her temples, palaces 
and churches lay in ruins. But to-day she is glorious 
and majestic, beautiful in her ancient temples, gloriously 
radiant in her church treasures. To-day she is striving 
also for modern methods and rebuilding many old places 
along the line of twentieth century improvement. Her 
people seem happy and prosperous, and much wealth — 



13 

some of it American — centers here. Her streets are 
brililant with gay throngs of people and fine shops, glit- 
tering military uniforms, handsome equipages and fast 
automobiles grace attractive thoroughfares and proclaim 
the prosperity of the Romans. 

The church of St. Cecilia is of much renown, and was 
erected in honor of the female saint of this name. Her 
memory is much revered in Rome, and many conflicting 
stories are told about her. According to some of these 
stories she had a very hard and unhappy time of it on 
this earth, and came to a dreadful finish. She is said to 
have been parboiled and then slashed three times in the 
neck with a Saracen scimiter. In the crypt where the 
remains of this saint were, after many vicissitudes, 
finally laid to rest, is a beautiful memorial chapel in the 
Moorish style of architecture, where mass is celebrated 
every day in her honor. 

The National Museum is very attractive and noted for 
its graceful statuary. Among the forests of statuary here 
displayed is the "Dying Gladiator," a beautiful Venus, 
many of the Greek poets, ancient Emperors of Rome, 
warriors, sages, popes, cardinals, and other church dig- 
nitaries, and so on ad infinitum. 

A fortunate, rather hap-hazard good-by visit to St. 
Peter's found me there on St. Joseph's day. Now, St. 
Joseph is a very popular saint in Rome. More stores 
and places of business close in his honor than on Sunday. 
A small bnt ornately beautiful chapel is here dedicated to 
St. Joseph. Here are contained many relics of the 
saints ; among others, some hair of the Blessed Virgin 
Mary, and a bone of one of the fingers of St. Joseph. 
This chapel was luminously illuminated and a veritable 
garden of exotics was before the saint's altar. The chapel 
is only open to the public on "Saints' Day," and it is 
regarded as an extreme privilege to be admitted within 
its sacred precincts. 



14 

Our courier was brought up with the famous 
opera singer, Caruso. He had many stories to 
tell about this great singer. He was an uneducated, 
indolent Neapolitan until his beautiful voice was discov- 
ered, and now he is not quite the pink of perfection, nor 
are his morals, like the Mikado's, particularly correct. 

In the Catacombs, one mingles with the bones of a 
million dead, early popes, bishops, martyrs and priests. 
On the Appian Way is a subterranean catacomb as dark 
as a thousand black cats. It is the catacomb of Sextus. 
An old monk pilots the way, and we all carried lighted 
candles, which seemed to more accentuate the darkness 
than to furnish light. These catacombs were the refuge 
for the early Christians hiding from their pagan perse- 
cutors. Many thousands met their deaths here in varied 
blood-curdling ways at the hands of barbarians. At the 
spot where Saint Cecilia is said to have met martyrdom 
is a representation in stone of this saint as she was 
found after her death, with three cuts in her neck. It 
is a ghastly sight. In another catacomb — less spooky — 
the light of day faintly percolated through crevices, and 
a few open spaces above. Here the bones and skulls 
of millions of dead were piled up in all sorts of uncanny 
shapes, some quite ornamental, making frescoes and 
dados. Skeletons clothed in monkish garb lay around in 
niches and some were standing up, as in life. I never 
before realized that the human skull was susceptible to 
a high polish, but some of these skulls shone, oh, so 
brightly. I fondled a few to satisfy myself that they 
were real skulls. The open air, the sunshine of day and 
the world of light was appreciably refreshing, after these 
morbid scenes of the Catacombs. 

The amphitheater, where athletic games were formerly 
played, is a wonderful structure, and the arena reminds 
one of the early Christian martyrs who were here slain 
by pagans and devoured by wild beasts — they "met 
the tyrant's brandished steel, the lion's gory mane." 



15 

In the Borghese gallery is found a most excellent and 
interesting collection of paintings, statuary and works 
of art. The Borghese family is one of the most ancient 
in Italy. From Lucretia, the founder, to the more modern 
dukes, their influence in Rome and the Empire has been 
potent. Allied with the Popes, their influence at the 
Quirinal has been equally powerful. With the aid of 
the Popes they despoiled the people; protected by Holy 
Mother Church they have been invincible; their fortunes 
attest their power. 

The Quirinal is a beautiful palace. This is the palace 
of the Emperor at the nation's capital. Next to the Ger- 
man royal palaces it is the most comfortable and home- 
like in Europe. The situation on one of Rome's seven 
hills is commanding. Its halls and salons are pictur- 
esque in the extreme. Draperies, statutes, pictures and 
bronzes are in abundance. The attendants were civil 
and the oportunity of a very charming progress through 
these regal apartments was all one could wish. 

The fashionable drive is called the "Pincian." It 
arises in terraces from the city level and terminates in 
a grand park. It is a gay scene Sunday afternoon ; good 
music, large crowds of people, all neatly dressed, well 
behaved, and seemingly happy, enjoy the scene and 
the bracing spring air. The gentry were out in full 
force, driving in ornate equipages ; among them were 
some beautiful women, from young misses to old dow- 
agers, all splendidly and fashionably gowned. Many 
Americans were there, enjoying life on Rome's fashion- 
able drive. 



16 



Florence. 

The journey to Florence is a welcome diversion after 
the glories of stately Rome. The country traversed is 
pleasing to the eye. The scenery of field and mountain 
is picturesque, dotted with quaint old towns by the way. 
Immense vineyards and snow-clad mountain peaks are 
constantly in sight. Agricultural processes are not 
American by many centuries. They are in keeping with 
any age B. C. Ox teams do the plowing and haul the 
loads along the country roads. 

Florence is quaintness itself, old and medieval in every 
nook and corner. It is the center of the world of art. It 
is pure art, the mecca to which lovers of art do flock. 
The American colony is large. The stranger within 
her gates is the prosperity of Florence. American dol- 
lars here pay just tribute to art. Artists of all nations 
may be seen at work in most of the principal galleries. 
Many of the copies of the great masters evidence the 
genius of the student. Their paintings reveal masterly 
talent. These artists are very attractive characters, 
some of them elderly ladies, one of whom we afterwards 
encountered riding in a stately carriage with two men 
in livery on the box. She was undoubtedly a person 
of importance, a lover of art for the sake of art. Then 
there are the typical student-looking, rough haired and 
bewhiskered gentlemen. Evidently these are the real im- 
pecunious Italian artists you find in novels. 

Florence is a very engaging place. Novelty and beauty 
are on every hand. Cathedral dome and church spires, 
palaces and art galleries, public buildings and monu- 
ments and campanile, form the centers of artistic attrac- 
tion to the traveler. They are beautiful in their exterior 
and are stored with treasures of art nowhere else met 
with in such rich profusion. The Vecchia bridge, which 



17 

spans the Arno, is more than four centuries old, and is 
lined on either side with most attractive shops, where 
are enticingly arrayed works of art, such as books, pic- 
tures, sculpture, Etruscan ware, silver, gold, bronzes, 
brasses, mosaics, ivories and all imaginable articles of 
ancient and modern make. Florence is in the pretty 
valley of the Arno, and almost surrounded by mountains. 
The views of the city from the hills are charming. Among 
the most historic of the statues of the old-time Floren- 
tine heroes is one of great beauty, erected to Savonarola. 
Among the last century patriots of Italy are Victor 
Emanuel, Garibaldi and Mazzini. The cathedral, with 
its historical campanile, and the baptistry, with its re- 
markable bronze doors, are, from the exterior, like a 
huge, dazzling mosaic, grand in symmetrical, artistic pro- 
portions. The interior of the cathedra] is so overshad- 
owed by the unusual beauty of its facade that to the 
casual observer it is somewhat of a disappointment. The 
Pitti and Uffizi galleries, the church of St. Croce, the 
Pantheon of Florence and the Museum, are the principal 
repositories of artistic treasures. An attempt to de- 
scribe these treasures would be a futile task, and endless. 
There are miles of tapestries, tons of Etruscan ware and 
old copper in every conceivable form ; Egyptian mummies, 
skeletons in earth, and many other gruesome objects; 
statues of all kinds; Rubens and Raphaels of the finest; 
dozens of Madonnas and Holy Families, Ascensions, Res- 
urrections, Crucifixions, Last Suppers, the Betrayal Kiss 
of Judas, the Birth of the Savior, Adorations of the Wise 
Men and Shepherds, Presentations in the Temple, 
Simeons in the Temple, rejoicing at the sight of the 
infant Jesus ; Annunciations of the Blessed Virgin, many 
saints and some sinners, Adam and Eve in the Garden 
of Eden, Eve handing out the apple to Adam, the Lord 
going after Adam and Eve after they got wise and 
started a hunt for raiment, and manv miles of valuable 



18 

paintings of kindred subjects. There are more Raphaels, 
Murillos and Rubens than one would surmise those art- 
ists, with indomitable industry, could have painted in a 
long and busy life. Some fine statuary by Michael An- 
gelo was much in evidence in these galleries. 

The palace of the Medici, the residence of the old grand 
dukes, is a fine place, and in some respects home-like. 
Here are many cabinets with secret drawers, all finely 
and intricately executed, marvels of artistic beauty. In 
the church of the Annunciation are some very gorgeous 
paintings on the ceiling, all in elaborate gold, gold being 
the prevailing tint in the decorations. In another church 
was a tapestry like a temple of beautiful mosaic, with 
chaste and fine carving, said to be six centuries old. 

The city hall is a structure of much beauty, very spa- 
cious, and celebrated for its eight statues of Hercules 
in different feats of strength. In the Museum are much 
old armor, gems, medals and medallions, also old church 
curios in the shape of stalls and furniture, relics of 
martyrs and scenes of persecutions ; some marvelously 
wrought cameos, exquisitely carved ; some old sarcophagi, 
a most excellent statue of St. George, and more other 
things of artistic interest than could be written in a 
volume. 

Florence is a wonderful net-work of narrow streets, 
with large squares and a park of considerable extent. 
Shrines of the virgin and saints are in many places, 
before which the piously inclined may turn their eyes 
upward while they utter a brief Ave Maria or a pater- 
noster. A visit to the poorer quarter of the city was 
repaid by a sight of the Florentines as they appear in 
their poverty and their work. They are orderly, clean 
and industrious. The meat, vegetable and flower mar- 
kets are well kept, the people well behaved, and in trav- 
eling miles in these parts we were met with civility, and 
had no cause for concern for our safety. 



19 

There are two Episcopal churches in Florence, one 
English and the other American. The anomalous condi- 
tion prevails that the English church is ministered to by 
an American priest and the American church by an Eng- 
lish priest. This fact was verified to me by Bishop Pot- 
ter, of New York, who confirmed a class at the American 
church in April last. The American church, which is 
named St. James, is quite a large and pretentious edifice, 
partaking of its artistic environment. The Sunday I 
attended service there was a large congregation, made 
up principally of those American women who had left 
their husbands at home and such of their children as 
were not left in the care of their confiding husbands. 
Having passed the alms basin I am able to testify that 
to the credit of their sex they were liberal with their 
liras. 

Florence was left with many a keen regret. The jour- 
ney to Venice took us over a part of the mountain range 
of the Apenines to Bologna, during which there was a 
snow storm, reminder of our Western home. The cars 
were cold, and but for the presence in our compartment 
of a happy German bride and groom, who were evidently 
oblivious to the chilly atmosphere, we might have been 
miserable, but their cheery presence created an atmos- 
phere of warmth and happiness. 

Venice. 

Venice was reached at ten at night, in the dark and in 
a pouring rain. The gondolas are the Venetian cabs, in 
one of which we bestowed ourselves and our hand bag- 
gage. We were sheltered from the weather by a canopy 
which is used on such occasions. We started in about 
the broadest part of the Grand Canal, which was radiant 
with electric lights. As in a cab, we had no fellow pas- 
sengers. We were really strangers on strange waters. 



20 

All seemed well and pleasant until, somewhat to our 
dismay, our gondola glided into a very narrow aud very 
dark eanal. The canals seemed to get more twisted and 
more dark as we progressed. AVe had concluded that the 
hotel was near the station, so after twenty minutes, and 
then half an hour, had passed, and still no hotel — noth- 
ing but the quiet splash of the oar of the gondolier and 
the gentle swashing of the water against the gondola — 
we peered out into the darkness. There was nothing to 
be >een. The situation became a little spooky. Conver- 
sation seemed by mutual consent to have stopped. The 
quiet beeanie almost oppressive. It seemed that we 
could hear each other breathe. Forty minutes passed, 
and still no lights and no hotel, and the tension became 
acute. About this time my mind dwelt upon the trage- 
dies of the fifteenth century, when it was a common 
thing for strangers to be robbed by the gondoliers and 
their bodies thrown into some dark corner of a narrow 
and unfrequented canal. AVe were ready at any moment 
for the denouement of a dreaded tragedy; but at the end 
of forty-rive minutes the suspense was dispelled and the 
gondola stopped under a bridge, and there was the hotel, 
with hospitable and welcoming hands reaching to assist 
us out of the gloom of the gondola and our fears, and to 
assnre us that our rooms were ready. AVe soon forgot 
our trepidations of the journey when we found ourselves 
in a generously furnished room, with a bath attached, 
with a full flow of real hot water as well as cold. The 
Hotel Danielli, in which we were, proved a very accept- 
able and comfortable hotel. It was an old A^enetian pal- 
ace, built originally in 1400 A. D., and has been occupied 
by Doges and much royalty and many foreign ambassa- 
dors. George Sand lived here in 1834. Lord Bacon 
often graced its ancient halls. It still maintains its pala- 
tial character, with great halls and stair-cases, but con- 
tains modern steam heat and bath rooms. 



21 

But Venice — oh, it is charming, delightful; so quaint, 
so picturesque, so aquatic, nothing like it anywhere on 
earth or water; it is fascinating. Everything about it, 
including the people, is attractive. There is plenty of 
life and color. In fact, all is life and color, from the 
pink cheeks of the babies to the pink ribbons of their 
nurses. Venice is so unlike any other city that she stands 
unique, alone. The coloring here is gold and blue and 
the varied colors you see in pictures of St. Mark's and 
the palace of the Doges. The church of St. Mark's is a 
perfect gem. The carvings in stone and ivory and 
porphyry are marvelous. Her ornate adornments are 
wonderful, and her mosaics are of the best and by the 
most eminent of the old masters. The palace of the 
Doges is replete with handsome rooms and galleries, 
depicting the history of Venice under the Doges. The 
dungeons of the palace, some below the water line, are 
dark, malodorous and ding} 7 , where all sorts of cruelties 
were practiced in ancient times upon prisoners of state 
and others. Happily, even here in Italy, those days are 
gone forever, but their history reflects no credit on any 
era of Christendom. 

The canals and buildings of Venice are in much the 
same condition as they have been for centuries past, but 
the steamboats which traverse the grand canal and stop 
at all the important landings, give the place a modern 
tinge and remind one of the penny boats of London's 
Thames, for that is what they are — penny boats; for 
what would pass for a penny in London is the boat fare. 
Many modern yachts and ships of war seen in the harbor 
are in strange contrast to the medieval surroundings. 
The gondola is still the same as in olden times. The 
gondolier is a very happy and a very sturdy fellow. He 
seems to enjoy his work and every master stroke of his 
oar, in rhythmic tune, seems a pleasure. He is very civil 
and smiling and most reasonable in his charges. 



22 

While Venice is composed of water streets, yet there 
are shore streets and squares, mostly very narrow, 
flanked with tall fifteenth and sixteenth century build- 
ings. A walk in these streets and over the Rialto bridge 
is both novel and interesting. No autos to dodge, no 
bicycles, no horses to tread on you, and no loud-voiced 
drivers hollering at you. Many of these little, narrow 
streets have attractive stores of all sorts within their 
narrow quarters. They are well patronized. No horses 
or mules or wheeled vehicles are seen in these streets. 
It is said that many poor people live and die without go- 
ing away from Venice and without seeing a live horse. 
In walking these narrow ways one is startled and sur- 
prised by suddenly coming upon a large square with 
beautiful church edifices, palaces, government buildings, 
trees, plants and statues. 

It is quite the thing in Venice to feed the pigeons of 
St. Mark. There are hundreds of them. An Italian sells 
little paper bags filled with corn. The birds fly around 
and eat the kernels from the hand and they perch upon 
the arms, shoulders, and sometimes the hats of those 
feeding them. They are wonderfully tame birds. No 
one is permitted to be otherwise than kind to them. 

The painting of the Madonna has occupied artists of 
both great and lesser fame, and these paintings are seen 
in profusion in many galleries. In one hall of the Na- 
tional Gallery of Venice I saw the following : Madonna 
enthroned ; Madonna enthroned with saints ; Madonna at 
prayer ; Madonna with St. Peter, John the Baptist, Cath- 
erine and Rosa; two plain Madonnas; Madonna, Mary 
Magdalena and Catherine; the Madonna of the two trees; 
Madonna with Saints Paul and George; Madonna in a 
beautiful landscape; Madonna by Bellini restored; the 
Madonna painted by that peerless artist, Titian, who 
lived to be ninety-nine years old, and was painting a very 
celebrated picture of St. Peter at the time of his death. 



23 

There is a profusion of saints and all manner of scrip- 
tural subjects in the picture galleries of Italy. 

Many of the paintings are beautiful, but some are 
grotesque to absurdity, inciting one's bump of irrever- 
ence at times. 

In addition to the paintings there are many old fash- 
ioned musical instruments in another hall ; a real Stradi- 
varius and Paginini's own violin; treasures of immense 
intrinsic and historic value. In another hall there 
were pictures of the old masters of music; old coins and 
medals; oM maps and topographical surveys; beautiful 
carvings in wood and stone; death masks of noted people 
of by-gone centuries; old fashioned clothes, worn by the 
subjects of the death masks ; some gory relics in the way 
of limbs, etc. from assassinated rulers ; all kinds of old 
fashioned royal chinaware ; guns, armor, pikes, axes and 
other munitions of ancient warfare. 

There is a general impression that sunny Italy is al 

ways sunny and warm. This is a delusion. It has its 

exceptions. On a cold raw day I observed a flurry of 
snow in the afternoon. 

Milan. 

Our departure from Venice was very different from 
our arrival. Under the noon-day sun of a bright, warm 
Spring day with the blue Italian sky above us, we 
went our way to Milan. On this journey we fell in with 
the Duke and Duchess of Manchester; the latter before 
her alliance matrimonial with the Duke was a Miss Zim- 
merman of Cincinnati. The Duke was making his an- 
nual pilgrimage to Verona, as the lineal representative 
of the ancient house of Montague. He is apparently a 
fine young fellow, quite handsome, and the Duchess 
seems to have him well in hand. 



24 

Milan is an attractive, bustling, noisy city and lias two 
great attractions, its Cathedral and the Scala Opera 
House, the home of Italian opera. In the grand Cathe- 
dral we attended a high mass which lasted over-long, 
but was, musically, very fine. The Sermon, which was 
in Italian, lasted about fifty minutes. It was stentorian 
in thunderous oratory with grand climaxes. The plead- 
ings to sinners never hit me once ; but what would other- 
wise have been monotonous was relieved by the fervid 
gesticulations in which the priest indulged to emphasize 
the good points I doubt not he made. 

To offset this long service we attended at night the 
opera at the Scala. The orchestra was great in numbers 
and execution; how many instruments there were I don't 
know, but its size may be gauged from the fact that there 
were eight double basses and three harps. The Italians 
travel around the clock all the hours of the day, so that 
the main opera ended at twenty-four o'clock, after which 
time there was a glorious ba'let, with a new orchestra, all 
in full blast at one o'clock when we left. The audience 
was quite demonstrative and called the principal singers, 
including a glorious tenor, and the composer of the opera 
before the curtain many times at the end of each act. 

The Cathedral is a massive gothic structure. It is 
wonderful in stone carvings with thousands upon thou- 
sands of statues and bas-reliefs. The pillars in the 
Cathedral are mammoth ; a veritable forest of stone, like 
unto a forest of big trees. The coffined remains of St. 
Charles Borromeo, the Cathedral's titular saint, who has 
been dead since 1584, are exhibited. On this occasion the 
priest put on his robe, lit the candles, rolled down the 
silver side of the saint's casket and there he was, fingers 
bejeweled, head crowned, crucifixes in several places, 
and, aside from his nose, which has been worn somewhat 
by the remorseless tooth of time, he looked natural, con- 
sidering the time he had been dead. Mass is said before 



25 

his remains, on an altar there erected, every morning in 
the year. His tomb and chapel are the richest in pre- 
cious stones and diamonds of anything of the kind I know 
of. From there is a climb of 360 steps to the top of the 
Cathedral, just under the statue of the Virgin, which is 
at the extreme top of the tower. The views from this 
point are very fine, and the snow-clad peaks of the Ape- 
nines are clearly seen. 

There is a quaint old church here, S. Lorenzo, bui't in 
the Fourth Century and said to be the first church built 
in Milan. It is surmised that originally it was a heathen 
temple. 

The Italian Lakes. 

The chain of Italian Lakes, consisting of Lakes Como, 
Lugano and Maggiore, form a most enchanting and ever 
pleasing attraction. The first of these, Lake Como, is 
reached by train in two hours from Milan. It is a per- 
fect gem, and as we rode its placid waters on a commodi- 
ous and most comfortable little steamer, the shores pre- 
sented entrancing scenery, with high, rugged, snow clad 
mountain peaks in constant view. In the occasional sun- 
light of a cloudy afternoon the varied tints on the water 
were magnificent. The air was cold and bracing. It was too 
early by a month for warm weather. Our first night on 
Lake Como was passed at Bellagio in a hotel named after 
the town. It is grandly situated at the fork of the lake. 
It is a veritable marble palace. Our sleeping apartment, 
was like an ancient baronial hall — high and large, with a 
handsome marble fireplace and a blazing wood fire, 
which was, in the chilly spring air, a great comfort. 
This hotel is palatial in size and appointments, with lofty 
ceilings, grand decorations and finely carved statues and 
artistic paintings. After the din and roar of Milan, this 
was the quiet of the silent tomb. The corridors had such 



26 

a chilly effect that the comfort and warmth of our blaz- 
ing fire was accentuated. 

The scenery of Lakes Lugano and Maggiore is sub- 
lime, mountain peaks with winter snows rising grace- 
fully from the water's edge; old castles, old churches and 
quaint villages line the surrounding shores ; ancient and 
queer looking sailing boats with kite shaped sails, sup- 
plemented by modern steamers and pleasure yachts, dot 
the waters of the Lakes. Afternoon tea on the upper 
deck of our little steamer, in the cold spring air, with 
flurries of snow, was not an altogether disagreeable ex- 
perience, but really quite enjoyable. The ozone of the 
air was exhilarating and made the blood tingle and freely 
circulate. Here was Nature in her loveliest mood; such 
a contrast from the arts of man in the crowded cities 
of Naples, Eome, Florence, Venice and Milan, to these 
beautiful scenes of nature. In going over the mountain 
passes to the different lakes in little narrow gauge cars, 
the views were beautifully rugged. We passed through 
flurries of snow at times, and actually saw a brood of 
chickens with the old mother hen scratching for them in 
the snow. 

At Baveno, with a grand view of Belle Isle on which 
stands one of the colossal statues of the world — that of 
St. Charles Borromeo — in the comfortable hotel Belle 
Vue, the pure air and the quiet solitude of lake and 
mountain brought with it sound and refreshing sleep. 

Veeona. 

From these captivating scenes we once more turn our 
faces cityward, and visit quaint Verona, replete with en- 
joyable surprises. However, Verona is in a state of 
decadence; population and trade decreasing; yet what 
there is left of the people seem happy and contented. 
Still it is the contentment which comes of stagnation and 



27 

dry rot. Verona, romantic Verona, redolent with the 
memory of Romeo and Juliet, made immortal by Shakes- 
pere's tragedy of that name, where the fend of the rival 
houses of the Montagues and Capulets resulted in the 
tragic death of these ardent lovers. Juliet's tomb is the 
mecca of all pilgrims to Verona. To view it is to suffer 
disillusion. The figment of fancy and romance vanish 
as the dark night at the dawn of day. Our guide, a 
veteran of the bloody field of Solferino, got into such an 
exciting wordy warfare with the attendant as to much 
threaten the repose of the once adorable, beautiful, but 
now very much dead and decayed Juliet. I expected 
every moment to see a fair apparition arise and say in 
dulcet, silvery strains, "Hush! Peace! Be still. Dese- 
crate not my last resting place with your vulgar and 
unseemly mouthings", but when this babel of unruly 
tongues ceased all was still. Here is a bridge of Roman 
construction, whose foundations date back two thousand 
years. An amphitheatre is here as old as the one at 
Rome. Dante has a fine monument in the public square, 
and there are many monuments raised to perpetuate the 
memory of the Scaligers, former rulers of this part of 
Italy, who typify their ascent in life by a coat of arms 
consisting of ladders. The buildings here are mostly in 
the old style of Italian architecture. The stores and 
market places are very pleasing. 

Lakes Garda and Riva. 

The most attractive way to the Austrian Tyrol from 
Italy is by steamer on the superb Lake Garda. Of 
all the lakes of Italy and Switzerland, for beauty of en- 
vironing scenery and changing tints of its waters, 
this stands par excellence. Duzenzano lies at the south- 
ern or Italian end of this beautiful lake, and Riva in the 
Austrian Tyrol at its extreme northern end. Every mo- 
ment of this four-hour journey is replete with grand, 



28 

inspiring, rugged scenery. Riva is about two miles 
north of the Austrian-Italian frontier. The lake nar- 
rows as it nears this point, and on either shore rise, 
almost perpendicularly from the water's edge, huge 
rocks several thousand feet high. The west bank of the 
lake is noted for its large fruit-growing farms. They 
are all terraced and boxed in to protect the trees from 
the inclemency of winter weather, and they are as care- 
fully tended as a nurseryman tends his choicest plants. 
Riva is one of the beauty spots of earth, where every 
prospect pleases and even man does smile. It is a 
sweetly clean little town and has no unwholesome or un- 
savory corners as are sometimes met with in other places. 
It is most attractive, and at night, when it shines under 
the blaze of electric lights, it has the effect of a beautiful 
stage setting. You walk around feeling as if you were 
wandering in some fairyland, instead of a quaint, real, 
old-fashioned Tyrolean village. Grand old Baldo, whose 
rugged magnificence challenges our admiration, and 
makes us stand in awe at its ponderous grandeur, rises 
before us, and in its shadow this Tyrolean village nestles. 
From these inspiring scenes of nature we traverse a little 
mountain pass to Mori, and thence by through express 
to Botzen, and then wind our way through a pictur- 
esque valley of the Tyrol to the Mecca of our journey, 
Meran, and our good friend Mr. John L. Stoddard. 

X Meran. 

After so long a journey away from home and friends 
it was indeed a thrilling sensation to meet with the warm, 
cordial and hearty reception which Mr. and Mrs. Stod- 
dard accorded to us on our arrival on the station plat- 
form, and away we drove with them through this his- 
torical, quaint, attractive city. We were soon ushered 
into Villa Pomona, the Stoddard residence, a home of 



29 

culture and luxury, from every corner of which may be 
seen enchanting Tyrolean mountain views. 

For eight most pleasant and never to be forgotten 
agreeable days our hosts nearly overpowered us 
with their many kindnesses. To every point of 
interest, and to many persons, equally interest- 
ing, we were taken. Here at Meran are attract- 
ive parks and drives, charming music, grand val- 
leys and comfortable hotels. It is really a garden spot 
of the earth, from which nothing but that which charms 
and interests meets the eye. The mountains which en- 
viron Meran are rich with ancient castles, from Schloss 
Tyrol to Schloss Furst. Schloss Furst is a wonderful 
old castle, in which in olden times was imprisoned the 
last of the Meistersingers. It has been modernized as to 
comfort, but is still ancient as to its walls, its little chapel 
and its grim old dungeon. 

During our stay in Meran there was presented a pasto- 
ral out-of-door performance of Andreas Hofer, the hero 
of the Tyrol, who defended it from the invasion of the 
French under the great Napoleon. The historic fight 
was gone over again in a play, under the mountains and 
castles where the scenes thus mimicked actually occurred. 
The actors are all peasants and villagers, men, women 
and children descendants of the men who did the real 
fighting. The theatre is out of doors, directly under the 
shadow of Schloss Tyrol, where the real warfare occurred 
in 1809. Cannons were fired from the mountain sides, 
just as in the original strife. The scene is the village, 
and the villagers are out, engaged in their usual sports 
and work. It is al! very realistic. The meetings of the 
patriotic citizens ; the harangues which fire the patriotic 
hearts with the enthusiasm which impels them to march 
to the defense of their beloved Tyrol; the scenes of the 
wounded and the dying; and the prisoners brought in 
from the battlefield, followed by the return of the victori- 



30 

cms band. Then come the reverses; the betrayal of 
Hof er, their leader, a noble character, to the French ; his 
trial and ultimate execution. It is astonishing what 
splendid actors these simple people make. There is not 
a professional actor amongst them. The tableaux were 
grand and imposing, and many of the scenes were so 
pathetic that tears were brought to the eyes of many of 
the audience. The day was perfect, the scene inspiring, 
the people sitting in the open air, the crowds going to 
and from the place of performance, — which was on the 
outskirts of the town — their entertainment in booths set 
up in an adjoining field, was all indeed quite novel and 
interesting. 

The Tyroleans are as patriotic today as they were in 
1809, and these performances tend to keep burning in the 
hearts of the people the fire of patriotism and love for 
their grand, majestic Tyrol. Amng the performers were 
the man from whom I bought a hat, another who brought 
the trunk from the station, and the village wood-carver, 
a grand old man, with a wealth of flowing white beard. 

This mimic army of Tyroleans brings to the mind of 
an American another historical conflict which took p'ace 
in this country, when the ragged Continental Army 
under Washington was engaged in fighting for its liber- 
ties. 

While at Meran we made a pilgrimage to a very pretty 
church, founded by St. Valentine, somewhere about the 
2nd Century A. D. It is very popular with young 
people, who patronize it for the celebration or their 
marriage nuptials, as St. Valentine's church is supposed 
to augur a very happy wedded life to those who are there 
joined in the bonds of wedlock. While Andreas Hofer 
is the hero of the Tyrol — John L. Stoddard is its his- 
torian — at Meran, Mr. Stoddard is certainly its most 
popular distinguished resident. 



31 



Innsbruck. 

Necessity, which knows no law, not even the law of 
hospitality, compelled ns to depart from entrancing 
Meran and the genial Stoddards, after eight days of 
generous kindly hospitality. While we left with regret, 
we resumed our journey with buoyant spirits, for in a 
measure our faces were now turned homeward although 
some diversions from the beaten path were contemplated. 
Our next objective point was Innsbruck, the capital city 
of the Tyrol. Through the valley of the Tyrol to Botzen 
the fruit trees were in blossom, in such wealth and pro- 
fusion that beggars description. The coloring was rich 
and varied, and there were literally miles upon miles of 
these trees. They had the appearance of huge floral 
bouquets. The trip was delightful. We climbed over 
these Tyrolean mountains through the Brenner Pass. It 
is a superb scenic trip. The mountains are grand. The 
pass rises to a height of nearly 5,000 feet, and in the 
middle of April took us into snow. One lake we passed 
was frozen over, and flurries of snow were encountered 
at the highest points. The magnificent scenery, with 
numerous churches and castles dotting the way, the 
rugged mountains, varied in their formation, made the 
journey a continual delight to the eye and the senses. 

Innsbruck is a qaint old town. It is replete with 
historic incidents. The environing mountains are won- 
derfully picturesque, and at that time were covered with 
snow. The drives are fine, and the park and Botanical 
Gardens large and handsome. There is a Terrace drive 
which affords wonderful views of mountain, valley and 
city. There on the heights is a large monument of 
Andreas Hofer, the hero of the Tyrol. While he was of 
the common people, as a lover of his grand old Tyrol, his 
memory is preserved with greater honor than that of any 
of the ancient or modern kingly rulers. He was shot by 



32 

the French, but his remains are entombed in the Cathe- 
dral, surmounted with a beautiful monument, near that 
of the great Maximilian who flourished in the sixteenth 
century. 

There is also a museum, containing trophies of Hofer 
in his military campaign for Tyrolean liberty. It is 
wonderful what he accomplished with his rugged peas- 
ants. He was invincible, and defeated Napo'.eon and the 
armies of Bavaria whenever he met them in their 
incursions into the Tyrol in an attempt to subject it to 
the rule of Napoleon. From its mountain fastnesses 
Hofer always came off Conqueror. 

Constance. 

From Innsbruck to Lake Constance is a panorama of 
enchantment and scenic delight. Along the valley of the 
Inn and over the imposing and picturesque Arlborg Pass 
we wend our way from Austria and the Tyrol to Ger- 
many. The Arlborg Tunnel, next to the St. Gothard and 
barring the Simplon Tunnel, opened in the early summer, 
is the largest in Europe. It took seventeen minutes for 
the train to pass through it at a good rate of speed. It 
is six and one-half miles long and cost seven and one-half 
million dollars. The town of Constance is replete with 
legendary and historic interest. Many evidences of its 
early occupation by the Romans are apparent. Here in 
the Council Hall, before the Imperial Council, was tried 
that great Bohemian Protestant reformer, John Huss. 
He was contemporary with Wickliff, and translated 
many of his writings and expounded his religious tenets. 
Huss was burned as a heretic and his ashes cast into the 
Rhine. The Hotel Insel was formerly an ancient Domin- 
ican convent, and in April it was as cold and sepulchral 
as a monk's cell. 



33 



Baden Baden. 

The Black Forest stretches from Constance to Baden 
Baden. The journey to the latter place proved another 
pleasing and gratifying scenic route. The railway trav- 
erses a marvelously pretty mountainous course. Numer- 
ous tunnels are encountered and in the steep ascent in 
many places the road doubles upon itself so that in the 
winding path one tunnel at intervals will be nearly imme- 
diately over another which the train has passed through. 
Many pretty little villages are seen nestling deep in ra- 
vines, with swiftly running streams swollen with the 
spring rains roaring in their onward plunge down the 
steep places. The fruit trees were in full blossom, ren- 
dering the air sweet with their fragrance. 

Baden Baden is one of the most admirable of all the 
European spring resorts. Its bath houses, drink halls 
and public places of entertainment are perfect in their 
appointments, and maintained on a most generous scale. 
Neatness and cleanliness are impressively apparent. The 
public gardens are pretty, and sweet music is discoursed 
there three times daily for the entertainment of visit- 
ors, it being quite the thing to dine in the open air. Music 
and dining out of doors are strengthening and invigorat- 
ing to the physical body, and soothing and uplifting to 
the mind. The drives through the forest are charming. 
The sombre green of the pines, mingling with the lighter 
colors of the beech, oak and chestnut, form a striking 
contrast to the green turf and the azure sky. The dark 
vines trailing from the grand old castles are a glorious 
sight. The villages in the forest are old, cleanly and 
quaint, and the villagers have every appearance of neat, 
orderly folk. The view from the summit of the 
old castle high above the forest trees discloses a 
panorama not to be duplicated for beauty and scenic 
grandeur. Schloss Uburg has a refreshment garden, dis- 



34 

closing splended vistas of forest scenes, where yon may 
partake of your afternoon coffee with cake in place of the 
English tea, served by civil and attractive German maid- 
ens — "Kaffee und Kuchen," they call it, and it is good. 
The cake is so plain and healthful that a baby without 
teeth might eat a piece and not cry in the night. 

Franklin Bi-Centennial — Paris. 

We now raise the 1870 cry of the Germans, k 'On to 
Paris." The glories of nature and the beauties of out- 
door scenes which have delighted our senses' since we 
left Duzenzano are now reluctantly left behind, to remain 
only as a sweet, ineffaceable memory. Pastoral scenes 
are now forsaken for the hurly-burly roar of congested 
city life. 

Paris and London remain for brief visits. 

Paris is Paris, London is London, as everybody knows. 

They have neither duplicates nor rivals. Unchallenged 
and incomparable they stand on the zenith heights as the 
world's grandest and most famous metropolitan cities. 

Two incidents, one in each of these cities, are of suffi- 
cient interest to be here set down. 

The Bi-Centennial celebration of the birth of that ver- 
satile constructive statesman and philosopher, Benjamin 
Franklin, was celebrated with impressive ceremonies at 
the Palace of the Trocadero in Paris, with the unveiling 
of a beautiful statute of Franklin on the Eue Franklin 
near by the Trocadero, presented by Mr. John H. Harjes, 
an American banker, residing in Paris. Admission was 
by ticket. 

The fraternizing of the Americans and Parisians in 
the beautiful hall of the Trocadero was an inspiring sight. 
The full seating capacity of the hall was tested to its 
utmost. Many Americans of prominence were seated 



35 

upon the platform, among others the donor of the statue 
and one of his partners, the famous capitalist, J: Pier- 
pont Morgan, whose visage was illumined with the radi- 
ance of his most prominent facial feature, also the Ameri- 
can Ambassador, Mr. Robert S. McCormick, of Chicago ; 
Mr. William Seligman; the American Consul-Genera 1, 
Mr. Frank H. Mason; and Prof. Albert H. Smyth, of 
Columbia University, who was the accredited American 
representative at these ceremonies. In the audience I no- 
ticed Mrs. Henry Villard of New York, and her brother, 
Mr. William Lloyd Garrison, of Boston, children of Will- 
iam Lloyd Garrison, a lover of liberty in its broadest 
conception, who did such valiant and heroic service in the 
agitation for negro emancipation. 

The famous band of the Garde Republicaine rendered 
beautifully American and French patriotic music, playing 
such stirring pieces as ''The Marseillaise," "Star Span- 
gled Banner" and "Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean." 
These provoked tremendous enthusiasm. The American 
Ambassador spoke, and Prof. Smyth delivered the ora- 
tion of the day, which was a masterly, eloquent, historical 
speech. On the part of the French Government speeches 
were made by the Minister of Public Works, M. Barthon, 
President of the Municipal Council of Paris, M. Chau- 
tard, and Secretary-General of the Prefecture of the 
Seine, M. Antrand. Mr. Harjes made a graceful address 
in presenting the Franklin statue, and his daughter, Hope 
Dorothy, and Miss Mary C. Waddington unveiled the 
statue. The ceremony of unveiling was unique and em- 
phasized by a salute of fifteen volleys of cannon. Prof. 
Smyth was publicly decorated with the Cross of the 
Legion of Honor, and according to custom, his deco- 
rator kissed him on the cheek as he pinned the Legion's 
emblem upon the lapel of his coat. History will record 
Franklin as the most popular American ever accredited to 
the French Government, and the most helpful to his coun- 



try u fcg Bis name is 

and admired 
and bom he was - ba I . nd . - nan this 

- nd the si ained in hi? honor, is for all time 

woven in the man: s of tin French capital. 

SOJTC OF 

In May thf "' t St. - edral, I 

tnessi _ ' _ 7 es : . : - ■ . - :: of the 

e I " _ . s isj Been! rporation, 

-- ■ F the sons oi erg 

of the Chnr _ and. It - I I - ■ _ - 

of 1< - -" ^ good, whenever it can lie 

found. Many of England- _ eatest pro:- ss ... and lit- 
erary i: _ I ---.. ges rime 
min: sters, * - rate the sea. em- 

- ths 1 _ trnkm " 

continents. who havi - fully 

tish Empire of 
sen sons : I . - ei gy, whos 
- - - _ - - ■ -- onels for of - - by 

I e ancient - - ~ Aside from : at i : . 

ament by the King 
son, tin rmony of this S - PI - service 

s the most sped - - IMe 

the Arehbis] I i -rbnry and York and many 

g the S« : . of fore - 

aonary juris - ttended by - and 

- - - =1 . iignita: - arrayed in their 

- ■ _ vestments as wi as tin Lord Mayor of 

the Sheriff : Lond. feflesex, with the 

i at- 
tend, ad in then most £ 

sedthi - 

marched np the cer: stalls 



37 

and altar. The choir and organ were supplemented by 
a large orchestra of brass and stringed instruments. The 
rendition of the service, musically and liturgically, was 
impressively beautiful, and the sermon by the Dean of 
St. Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin, the lineal descendant of 
the- famous, but erratic poet, Dean Swift, was quite ap- 
propriate. I regard this service from every view point 
as the most attractive, enjoyable and inspiring within my 
experience. 

In the evening of the day of this sendee a banquet is 
given by the Merchant Tailors, one of London's ancient 
and most wealthy guilds, in its magnificent hall, to the 
corporation of -the Sons of the Clergy. The banquet this 
year, given in the same hall by this ancient and honora- 
ble guild, was the 232nd consecutive banquet, without one 
break in its yearly continuity. The Lord Mayor presided. 
A reception held by the Lord Mayor and his medieval 
city court, preceded the banquet, Such ceremony, such 
pageant, such pomp and circumstance, such regalias and 
uniforms, are seldom met outside exclusive royal circles. 
The Lord Mayor was clad in his robes of office, with a 
magnificent chain of gold and precious jewels, sur- 
rounded by the Sheriffs, Eecorder, Mace bearer, train 
bearers, chaplains, sword bearer and other officials, all 
decked out in their quaint old costumes. These formed 
the receiving party. All the banqueters, according to 
custom, are presented to the Lord Mayor, surrounded by 
this imposing, not to say dazzling court. I was caught 
and my presentation was foredoomed. A master of cere- 
monies, in a loud foghorn of a voice, announced all the 
arrivals on their presentation, with their full titles from 
His Ecclesiastical Grace of Canterbury to modest Judge 
Holdom of Chicago. To me it seemed an awful, overpow- 
ering ordeal. I was in good time, within the first twenty, 
and as I was announced at the door entering into the audi- 
ence chamber, by the foghorn voiced master of ceremo- 



38 

nies, I braced up, stretched on my heels, puffed out my 
chest, lifted on high my head, and with steady, measured, 
judicial tread, approached the dignified and dazzling offi- 
cials. I shook hands with the Lord Mayor, who looked 
the part he was filling, a handsome man and an ideal 
Lord Mayor and told him how proud I was to see him. He, 
in effect, replied that he reciprocated my sentiments as 
heartily as tradition, ancient and hoary, would permit a 
live Lord Mayor to do, and added he was happy to wel- 
come an American cousin. With evident reluctance he let 
go my hand, whereupon I side-stepped and became a spec- 
tator of the scene. It was an impressive sight. The 
military costumes, blue and scarlet hoods of Cambridge 
and Oxford, gold trimmings of officials, court costumes, 
knee breeches, and gold buckled shoes, all made both a 
picturesque and medieval scene. I had a seat at the ban- 
quet near the "High-table" next to a brother of the 
Lord Mayor. We became quite friendly. He was gra- 
cious and attentive, and to use an Anglicism, I had a jolly 
good time. The dinner was most excellent, the wines old 
and fruity, the service regal. There is no charge for this 
banquet. It is by invitation. The host is the guild, but 
an old and finely wrought silver basin is passed for dona- 
tions. I observed, when it reached me, that it contained 
nothing but Bank of England notes, making the smallest 
contribution twenty-five dollars, surely an evidence of 
generosity toward this old and deserving corporation. 
After the banquet was over and all the toasts, previously 
announced by the strong-lunged master of ceremonies be- 
fore referred to, had been drunk, and a lot of poor 
speeches made, and the Lord Mayor had announced the 
arrival of the King in London from his holiday making 
in foreign parts, which he jocosely remarked the King 
had made under a false name, the company adjourned to 
another fine old hall, where cigars and coffee were served 
and a social time indulged. I was fortunate in becoming 



39 

acquainted with several gentlemen, who entertained me 
with some interesting talk, but not with stories, after the 
American fashion. In about an hour the company broke 
away, the Lord Mayor and Sheriffs entering their circus- 
coaches in a blaze of glory, with their powdered wigged 
outriders, which spectacle a motley crowd of belated Lon- 
doners seemed to enjoy. I modestly followed and when a 
policeman at the door called a handsome cab, and said, 
"Where to, sir?" I felt so good I came near saying 
"Buckingham Palace." 

Memory may fail of many events of my life, but my 
day with the Corporation of the Sons of the Clergy will 
remain a pleasing recollection until the next stage of 
existence is reached. 

U. S. A. • 

All the enjoyment of foreign travel, sights and scenes, 
so far from dimming our eyes to the fairest of all lands, 
had quite a contrary effect. The harbor of New York, 
with its forts, green slopes and pretty hamlets, the broad 
sweep of the bay with the Stars and Stripes streaming 
in the breeze from ships and forts and flag-staffs on 
land and water, was to us the most cheering and impres- 
sive sight seen since on that bright winter morning we 
sailed away from the "light" at Sandy Hook to foreign 
shores. The symmetrical span of the Brooklyn bridge 
and the view of the skyscrapers towering heavenward 
on Manhattan Island as we enter the lordly Hudson, 
remind us as objects nowhere else to be seen, that we 
are at the Seat of Empire in the land we love so well 
and delight in calling home. 






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